Fall Into Your Gravity
by Jaylee1
Summary: Toddler Spock and Jim meet at a Starfleet function and bond. One would think meeting one's soulmate at so young an age would make courtship fairly easy… Not so much. Features culture differences and two boys unwilling to discuss feelings.
1. Chapter 1

Co-written with Daphnie_1

Intro:

"_Each of us, at some time in our lives, turns to someone – a father, a brother, a god – and asks: Why am I here? What was I meant to be?" _- Spock, "Star Trek: The Motion Picture"

* * *

He felt isolated, even here among the human children his own age.

No one would approach him; no other child showed any interest in sharing his company. Even though he was four standard years of age, and shouldn't be bothered by such things when there was Vulcan control to learn, he felt the rejection keenly.

Then his eyes fell upon a flash of blue, shining brightly in the face of a golden haired child. The child, who looked to be his own age, if not a little younger, smiled brightly at him from across the room and toddled over to where he stood.

"Wanna play wif me?" the child asked, holding out his hand.

And even though Spock wanted to say that he was four years old, he did not _play - _infants played, Vulcans of fourwere old enough to begin their lessons in the suppression of emotion - something held him back. The boy was the most beautiful being he'd ever laid eyes on. And his smile shone like a star. And he was looking at him, _him_ - whom all other children had ignored - with such warmth and acceptance.

So instead Spock nodded and raised his arm to take the offered hand into his own. When their skin met, Spock felt a shock, and…. knew the other boy's mind as if it were his own.

* * *

She had needed the money. Three years into the Academy and she had already gone through the trust her parents had set aside for her education. Baby-sitting at Federation parties had seemed like the perfect solution. It was only a few hours a week so it didn't cut too much into her studying, she made a ton of credits doing it, and she was rather fond of children.

All things considered, she could have done a lot worse in the menial job department.

In fact, she was in the process of mentally congratulating herself for landing such an easy and accommodating job, when two of her young charges caught her eye. One, a young dark-haired boy, had his hand rested on the temple of a tiny blond. Norella would have thought the scene ridiculously cute, except the boys, both of them, looked completely out of it, even from a distance, their eyes dazed, their minds clearly occupied elsewhere.

This, she knew, fear lodging like a lump in her throat, couldn't be good.

Norella took one cautious step, then two. A closer vantage point revealed just who the boys were, and with that recognition the young cadet felt her heart sink to her toes. Little Jimmy Kirk, the Kelvin baby, the one she had cooed over when his mother had brought him in and Spock, son of the Vulcan Ambassador, and the only human and Vulcan hybrid known to exist.

With her heart pounding loudly, and her palms sweaty, Norella reached for her communicator to page the Ambassador's wife, wishing that she had accepted that job in the Academy cafeteria instead.

* * *

She wasn't the type of parent who had grand dreams for her children. She'd always figured, especially in the aftermath of George's death and her subsequent thrust into single motherhood and single income households, that happiness was a thing you had to find on your own, in your own way.

Her boys would grow to be what they wanted to be, no more, no less. And as long as they didn't kill, steal, or covet their neighbor's wife (and really, who'd want to? The neighbor's wife was ninety and had a cat fetish) she figured she'd let them at it.

But for all her liberal views on parenting, she drew the line at _this_.

Jim was three. _Three_!

And while he was both vagarious and precocious for a three-year-old, damn cute genius kid, being accidentally bonded to a Vulcan toddler who shared 'rare mental compatibility' - or some such shit - he'd chance encountered at a party his mother had dragged him to was so out of the realm of okay she wanted to scream.

She shouldn't have brought him with her. Hell, she shouldn't even be here, herself.

She hadn't even wanted to come to this thing but her crew mates had sort of insisted and well, at the time it hadn't seemed like such a bad idea.

The party was to be held in San Francisco. She didn't like her Earth-side time disrupted from spending time with her boys-when she was on Earth, she was theirs-so the boys came with her. At the time she had patted herself on the back at her brilliant solution.

The party even had a room set aside with a sitter, it was convenient.

But of course what was supposed to be some standard Starfleet party _would_ turn into a cluster fuck. Of course it would. Such was her life.

"Don't you think we should get an ambassador or something?" Winona asked, trying her damnedest to remain calm. Pretty hard to do when all she could think about was George turning over in his grave.

_'So you married off our toddler, did you, Winnie? What a brilliant spot of parenting. Gonna marry our six-year-old off next? Wouldn't want Sam to feel left out.'_

Lady Amanda gave a half smile and absentmindedly tugged at her dress to straighten it. Winona wanted to punch the woman for looking so unscathed.

"I understand your concern, Mrs. Kirk, but this is about our children. I do not think it needs to become a diplomatic incident."

Which was all so damn easy for her to say because she was an Ambassador's wife and undoubtedly trained to keep insane shit on the down-low.

It wasn't as if Winona didn't like Amanda; the woman seemed smart enough, both pretty and serene. Winona even suspected that in another life they could have been friends. They had boys roughly the same age, one of them had married into an alien race, the other had pursued employment rubbing elbows with all kinds of alien races, it was rather obvious that they were both embracers of the unknown.

But Amanda seemed too much a part of her adopted planet - too much a part of Vulcan. She didn't seem to react to anything and it had long since started to hack Winona off.

Spock wasn't that much older than Jimmy-surely Amanda realized that this whole thing was _insane_?

Winona absent-mindedly ran a finger around the top of her glass, and, for a second, considered telling Amanda to get the fuck away because at least that might elicit a reaction. And that urge exemplified pretty well why she was an engineer and not a diplomat. She forced herself to look up from her glass and smile, but there was no joy in it.

"It's _Lieutenant_ Kirk, and I think there's something I need to make clear."

Amanda glanced back at her from across the table, but Winona couldn't read the expression. "And what is that?"

"No way am I handing Jimmy over to you. Whatever his being 'bonded' to Spock means, you can't have him." For Pete's sake, Jim was a _baby_, and fuck, he didn't need this. _She_ didn't need this. One minute he was safe in a room filled with toys specifically set up for the children of officers so the adults could mingle, and another this woman was pulling her aside and telling her that her youngest child had somehow gotten himself spontaneously Vulcan-married, telepathically, to another, equally young, boy.

At her side little Jimmy did not not look up at this outburst from his mother. In fact, Jim was sitting calmly on the floor beside her, eyes distant as if he were looking at a far-off star. She couldn't help but reach down and lightly touch him on the head, though the tactile reassurance did little to quell her unease.

All the while she felt eyes boring into her.

She looked up to find Amanda looking at her with something that might almost be surprise.

"I assure you that we have no intention of taking your son. The fact that your son and mine have formed a mental bond is extraordin-"

Winona cut her off with a gesture.

"Can I be blunt?"

This was met with a nod.

"I would expect little else," the Lady Amanda responded with clear amusement shining from her large brown eyes, and yeah, Winona knew she deserved that. She would undoubtedly look back on how she handled this whole incident and cringe, some time in the distant future, maybe even tomorrow.

But Jim was three. _Three!_

The panic welled once more.

"This is bullshit. Our kids can't keep this bond- you do know that, right?"

Amanda didn't even flinch. As if she had expected this outburst and wondered what took Winona so long to play to form.

"We have little choice. The bond, once formed, even accidentally, cannot be dissolved. With respect, I do not think you understand the importance bonds like these carry to Vulcans."

Winona laughed, yes, a little hysterically, but under the circumstances she thought she could be excused.

"Why don't you enlighten me?"

Amanda's gaze was sympathetic.

"Are all Jim's family psi-null, Lieutenant Kirk?"

Winona didn't answer. They might well not be – she didn't know much about George's family, or her own for that matter, it wasn't as if discussing one's psychic ability was common in their household, but fuck if she would admit to that ignorance. Instead she tilted her head and asked: "Does that matter?"

"This type of bond is...unusual between a Vulcan and a Human. In truth it is rare even between Vulcans. It is a very, very, special linking of the minds."

That much Winona had managed to figure out for herself. She didn't know a whole lot about Vulcans or Vulcan culture but she'd kind of picked up on the fact that this was a _thing_. Apparently a very important thing. Especially considering how important and powerful Amanda's family actually was.

But Jim was three. _Three!_

"Yeah, not so concerned about that. What does it mean for Jimmy?"

It was a fair question, she thought, because she had no clue what any of this meant in practicality and she was too high strung for a detailed lecture on the subject at that precise moment in time. She would read up on Vulcan bonds later. The most important details, she thought, were that they didn't want to take Jimmy away from her, but they couldn't get rid of the bond, either. Amanda could talk about bonds and Vulcan tradition and custom all she wanted but it didn't mean anything without an underlying _point_.

What was going to become of her child?

Amanda considered this for a moment, seemingly choosing her words carefully, before announcing, "It means that Spock is going to be a very important part of his life."


	2. Chapter 2

Age 6

"_Jim Kirk was many things, but he was never a boy scout!_" Carol Marcus, "The Wrath of Khan"

* * *

Jim stared at the trio of evil, mini-Vulcans – as he had coined them – hands firmly on his hips.

These three geeks were trying to pick a fight with Spock, had even stepped forward menacingly, as if they were supposed to be scary. Which they weren't. They so weren't.

What they were, was idiotic.

Here he and Spock had been, innocently minding their own business as Spock gave him a tour of the weirdest school Jim had ever seen (it had its students studying in bowls. _Bowls!_ How odd was that?) and these morons had come out of nowhere and started to make fun of Spock and his mother.

And while Jim thought Spock was a bit of an uptight stick-in-the-mud, he liked the Lady Amanda very much. She gave the best hugs and she made the Vulcan equivalent of banana bread for him whenever he visited, a fact that should surely elevate her to the level of Goddess. Making fun of her was as bad as making fun of his own mother, which just wasn't happening, in this century or the next.

Besides, Spock might be a bit annoying with his utter determination to obey the rules and believe that the words of adults were golden (Jim said 'ha!' to that… he'd met some stupid adults in his time) but he was _Jim's_. The only person who got to tease Spock was _him_.

"You're an idiot. I-d-i-o-t," Jim announced, and when noting that the expressions of their tormentors remained impassive, decided to elaborate. "It means someone who is stupid."

"I am not an idiot. I am in the top 5.6 percent of my class mathematically, scientifically, and in language development," one of the geeks, the tallish one, replied.

Jim snorted.

Jim might be only six, but he was fully aware that there were many kinds of intelligence. His mom had explained it to him once when she had taken him with her to San Francisco for some Starfleet party with really crappy food (there were like these crackers with cream cheese-which Jim hated-and shrimp-which he was allergic to-on them. Starfleet should really look into better food for their parties. He had once overheard his Grandpa Tiberius say that there had been a shortage of people enlisting because of what had happened to Jim's Daddy on the day Jim had been born. If all they served was shrimp crackers, he could see why!)...

Anyway, he remembered his mom's lesson in the many kinds of intelligence because of his trauma over the food.

So at this party with the crappy food this guy named Komack had come along and started chatting up his mom. Jim knew his mother well. When she was displeased with someone she got this little wrinkle on the side of her mouth. That wrinkle was Jim's indicator when to shut-up lest he get put on restriction. This Komack guy obviously didn't know his mother very well because he just kept right on talking even though his mother was getting the wrinkle. If the guy wasn't a grown-up, Winona would have totally sent him to his room.

When the Komack guy finally left, Winona had turned to Jim and said, "Ugh, he is such an idiot."

This confused Jim, because well, the guy had been wearing a Starfleet dress uniform.

"But Mom, he works for Starfleet and he runs things. Don't you have to be smart to do that?"

It was a legitimate question, Jim thought. Both his parents had worked for Starfleet, and while he'd never met his father, he liked to think the man had been smart. Heroes had to be smart, didn't they? And his mother, well, she was the smartest person Jim knew.

"Baby, there are different kinds of smart. There's book-smart and then there's life-smart."

Winona paused, and looked at Jim, to make sure he was following (his Mom did that when she said something she expected him to learn), and at Jim's nod, Winona continued. "That man there? When it comes to life and interacting with people, he's as dumb as a box of rocks."

"Oh," Jim replied, his mind processing this new information.

Jim decided that Vulcans were really, really smart, book-wise, but Jim didn't think they were particularly life-smart. At least not these numb-nuts (his new favorite term, one that Sam had taught him and one he liked to use whenever remotely applicable).

They should have a 'Diversity Day' celebration here on Vulcan like they did at Jim's school back in Iowa, maybe they'd learn a few things.

"Oh, I don't doubt that you're book smart. But when it comes to being smart about life and people you're as dumb as a box of rocks," Jim announced with authority. "The Lady Amanda says that your Vulcan belief of IDIC means that all species are equal and should get along. Just now you were being mean to Spock just because he's half-human, you're going against your own beliefs. And that's just an idiot thing to do. Hey Spock, did you know your classmates are numb-nuts?"

The mean Vulcans blinked, Jim hoped it was because his awesomeness at debating had rendered them speechless, but knew that the sudden silence probably had more to do with the fact that none of them knew what a 'numb-nut' was… Jim didn't either, actually, if he were being honest. It just sounded like a really _cool_ insult.

Spock, however, looked mad. Which Jim totally got, 'cause yeah, he was pretty mad, too.

What he wasn't expecting was for Spock to be mad at _him_ or shooting chastising glares his way. It was a completely shocking reaction. Had he not just defended the guy?

"You do not need to fight my battles for me. I am perfectly able to defend myself," Spock announced, before turning and walking away from Jim, bullies, and all.

Jim could only stand there, completely stunned. That did it! He was marrying Sally Forthead when he grew up, _not_ his numb-nut bondmate. Besides, he and Sally had totally already hooked up last Wednesday Wedding Day at school.


	3. Chapter 3

Age 11

"_You know, if Spock were here, he'd say I was an irrational, illogical human being for taking on a mission like that. Sounds like fun._" Jim Kirk, "Generations"

* * *

Jim stared at the keys in the ignition, his anger swirling like a growing, living thing in his gut.

He refused to turn around and watch Sam walk out of his life. He just refused to.

It wasn't fair! That Frank, who wasn't even their real father, and who was a total numb-nut on top of that, could be so evil as to chase his brother away, this time for good…. the suckiness that made up the Kirk household just seemed to grow by the minute!

Sam had always been there to protect him. It had been Jim and Sam against the world, or, more specifically, Jim and Sam against the tyrannical repression of their wicked stepfather.

It's not like their mother was around much to intervene on their behalf, she was an officer, she had to work and when she was home Frank acted as sweet as maple syrup atop a stack of fluffy, golden pancakes. Their mom had no clue that she had really married evil incarnate.

Only Jim and Sam knew Frank's true persona, a dictator who ran their household by barking orders and withholding privileges. One who never had a single kind word to say about anybody, but doled out the insults like candy spewing from a punctured piñata.

And the damn car he was out here washing-had, in fact, been _ordered_ by Frank to wash-was not fucking Frank's car to sell! It had been their father's car, and one day, Jim hoped, it would be either his or Sam's. It was one of the few possessions of their father's, their _real_ father's, they had left.

That Frank wanted to sell something of George Kirk's, for his own profit, was a humongous, Mount Rushmore-size sin. That this act was the final straw that broke the camel's back in regards to Sam's tolerance of their living situation was even _worse_.

He didn't want to be alone. He wanted his brother, and he didn't think that was too much to ask since the universe had already seen fit to take his father from him, at birth no less, and his mother by proxy, since she had to work to put food on the table.

It was then that a flash of inspiration struck.

Frank saw fit to chase his brother away, did he? Well, Jim would ensure that Frank, too, would feel a loss. Someone needed to put the damn man in his place. No one crosses a Kirk and gets away with it.

Jim did not feel afraid, or intimidated, and he certainly felt no remorse as he slid into the driver's seat of the car and revved the engine. Instead there was a faint tingling of excitement, starting in the pit of his belly and expanding rapidly throughout the rest of his body as he pushed the gas peddle down.

In a flash, the car, and Jim with it, was off. Wind whipped through his hair and beat against his face. The world passed by in a whirl of color, and the speed he was traveling, combined with the illicitness of his actions, produced the most awesome sense of euphoria Jim had ever felt. It even topped that one time Spock kinda smiled at him, in an understated, Vulcan-y type way. This… was… awesome. The danger, the excitement, the taking action in a cause that he believed in… _all_ of it was cool. He didn't know why he hadn't done anything like this before, clearly he'd been missing out!

His glee remained with him for all of ten minutes, the time it took to drive from the Kirk household to the ravine up north.

Oh yeah, by the time Jim was done with the car it would be so far beyond selling condition the only thing it could be used for was scrap metal.

That'ld show him, the brother-alienating, father-usurping, dickwad.

It wasn't until the car was so close to the edge of the abyss, and Jim knew he had to bail or die, that an odd thought formed in his head…

He wondered what it would be like to go over the ledge with the car. What it would feel like to soar through the sky like a bird, if only for a moment. It would certainly lead to the end of his pain. He wouldn't have to feel guilty any more for looking like his dead daddy, the way everyone said he did, thus reminding them of their loss; wouldn't have to feel guilty for being bonded to a half Vulcan who found his humanity disconcerting, and that was the _nice_ way of putting it. Wouldn't have to feel awkward for being a burden on his mom, and Spock's mom, and even Spock himself. He could go to the place where his dad was, wherever that might be, and they could have grand adventures together, since his dad had been the adventurous sort, much like Jim himself. Jim just knew that they would _get_ each other, were they to ever meet.

But then he pictured Spock's almost-smile, and their shared passion for classic books, and his mom's shining eyes, felt the taste of Lady Amanda's banana bread on his tongue, and saw the skeleton of a Starfleet shipyard not far in the horizon. A shipyard that built the vessels to take people into space, where a whole universe was out there to explore.

And then he remembered that he had a report due tomorrow. And that Spock and the Lady Amanda were coming to visit in a few days. And that his mom was coming home for his birthday. And that he still had to whip Sally Forthead's butt in this year's science fair, because Jim won it _every_ year, and he had a reputation to uphold. No way he was letting anyone beat him. No way.

So he jumped just as the car was dipping forwards, grabbing onto the ravine's edge with every bit of strength at his disposal, so afraid over what he'd almost done to himself he was shaking. And yes, his fingers hurt like hell when he pulled himself up, and he was going to be sore for _days_, if not weeks. And yeah, there was a cop there waiting to interrogate him, and he was going to have to face Frank's wrath, and somehow do it without bursting out laughing, the way he really, really wanted to, because the man's expression was bound to be priceless… Jim was supposed to be the _good_ one. Sam was the rebel. But well, he was alive.

And he was pretty cool with that, all truth be told.

His gladness over his state of existence turned out to be short-lived, because what followed was being interrogated for what seemed like hours on end at the sheriff's office. Then being dropped off at home to a sullen Sam, who apparently hadn't made it very far with his running away attempt, curious as he was about Jim's final stand (surprisingly there was no sign of Frank, and Jim would admit to being wildly relieved at that). And then Jim had to deal with not only getting reamed by his mother, via communiqué, but the subspace glare of a very serious half-Vulcan not seconds afterwards.

"Heya, Spock. What's up?" he couldn't help but chirp when he answered the call (after his mom's telling off, he really should have known better than to answer incoming transmissions).

"You are the most illogical being I have ever met. I know about the automobile, Jim," Spock said by means of greeting, and Jim couldn't help but roll his eyes.

First off, what kid their age used the word 'illogical'? It was weird. And secondly… this was so freakin' typical! Spock always thought him crazy. The implication had lost its oomph five _years_ ago.

"How did you even know? My mom was too busy chewing me out to call yours about what happened, and Frank is probably at the local bar getting shitfaced, mourning the money he woulda made on my dad's car. Plus, I thought you blocked our bond-thing so you don't have to put up with my 'illogicalness' on a daily basis?"

"You were in danger, and your emotions where strong. I am not adept enough to block our bond when such extreme situations occur. Please refrain from any future instances of blatant recklessness."

As sad as Jim found the idea, that was typical, too. Jim would make Spock feel something, Spock would get all huffy about it, and then he'd retreat from being Jim's friend, not to mention future husband, even more than he would before. Jim wished, just once, that Spock would say, 'hey Jim, I'm glad you're okay. I would have missed you had you gone away.'

Was someone being _glad_ that he was alive really too much to ask?


	4. Chapter 4

Age 13

_"They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don't want my pain taken away! I need my pain!" _Jim Kirk, "The Final Frontier"

* * *

The sight of food made him sick. So did the smell of it.

Kind of funny, though not in a haha way. Two months ago he would have given anything for something edible. Anything edible. Now he just wished everyone would leave him alone already and stop freakin' hovering.

The only thing that made him more nauseous than the sight of food, was the way both his mom and Amanda walked around him like he was this fragile little thing made of glass about to break at any moment.

It was unbelievably annoying.

He wasn't a fucking baby.

He didn't even know why Amanda and Spock had bothered to come. Tarsus was over with, Jim was alive, and the whole experience was just one more thing to add to the long list of incidents in his life that sucked.

God, he must be the most unlucky son-of-a-bitch in the whole goddamned universe.

Seriously, there were 20th century melodramas that were less dramatic than his life. Did he walk around with a sign on his back saying 'bad karma, shit happens on a regular basis to this person, keep your distance lest you fall victim' or what?

"Jim, sweetheart, I made your favorite sweet bread… would you like a slice?" Amanda inquired.

Jim just shook his head. It didn't matter if a food was his favorite or not, it all tasted awful. Like sawdust, or gym socks, or the science experiments Sam let grow in his room.

He didn't really know why he should bother to eat and get healthy again… as soon as he did, something else would happen that would send him right back here, in a bed, two worried mothers looking over him, and the impassive eyes of an asshole bondmate whose posture said, without needing to voice it, 'you, human, are being entirely illogical.'

"Jim," his mom said, a little more firm, "you have to eat something. You can't stay hooked to an IV forever."

Right, like she had a say. She was the one who sent him to Tarsus to begin with. Thought the change of scenery would do him good. That was her story, anyway-what Winona didn't know was that Jim had totally spied on that ill-fated parent/teacher conference that had spurred the whole idea to begin with.

It was his life they were discussing, why shouldn't he listen?

_"Jim is a bright boy. Too bright. I know you opted to keep him in his own grade, even though we suggested moving him forward, afraid that his peers wouldn't accept a child far younger than they are sharing the same classroom, but we feel this recent… activity, of his, is more than just him acting out for attention, as you surmised. We feel he is bored."_

And that had been that. Tarsus it was, to stay with an aunt who worked from home and could monitor Jim better than his own mom could, since she was often gone and had divorced Frank after the car incident.

What utter bullshit.

There was a time when Jim had believed nothing could be worse than being bored in stupid, bumfuck Iowa… now he knew better.

But he would say this for Tarsus… he had not been bored. Far from it. So far from it he could laugh, if he didn't think that both his mother, and Amanda, would think him insane for it.

Spock, well, Jim was past the point of caring what Spock thought. Spock could kiss his little, scrawny, malnourished ass.

"Mother, Commander Kirk, if the two of you do not object, I would like a moment alone with my bondmate," Spock requested, out of nowhere, startling them all.

Jim eyed the half-Vulcan suspiciously. Spock wanted to be alone with him? Since when? Any time in the past few years that Jim had visited Vulcan, Spock had been polite, but distant. Jim had developed a theory that Spock was really a robot, one that his creator had forgotten to program a personality into. A robot just biding his time until he could efficiently conquer the universe.

Which Jim would have been totally on board with-the universe conquering part that is, not the no-personality part.

What Spock wanted with Jim now he could not imagine. But it was a little late, this stage in the game, for Spock to start actually acknowledging Jim's ass. He'd have to do some very convincing begging. And Jim didn't believe for a moment that he would. The day Spock begged would be the day pork chops and bacon went flying.

No, the Vulcan wanted something else.

But, whatever. He didn't really care one way or the other. He just hoped Spock didn't try to coddle him, too.

He'd gag then he'd throw up on the bastard. That was a promise.

When both of their mothers had left, Spock turned large, dark eyes on him. If Spock meant Jim to cower under his steady gaze, he had another thing coming. Jim had just survived two months of very little food, and watching people, innocent people, die left and right. He would never cower for anybody, ever again.

"I am going to perform a meld on you," Spock said at last. "During the meld I will remove the memories associated with Tarsus IV."

Okay, that, that right there; that was… shocking. Totally the last thing Jim had expected. He had braced himself for Spock lecturing him, had prepared himself mentally to hear the words 'illogical' and 'rash' and maybe even 'get over it' though in a more diplomatic, Vulcany way, which meant the use of far more syllables, but this, this was just… _weird_.

And strangely, despite his nightmares and the scent of blood seemed permanently fixated in his nostrils, Jim was surprised to find himself violently opposed to such a notion.

"Why the hell would you do that?" His voice emerged far more calm than he actually felt.

"Because you are allowing yourself to remain in a state of disrepair rather than strive for physical recovery. And because both your mother and mine are extremely worried for your well-being. And yet you refuse to acknowledge their legitimate concern, or mine, and would rather, I believe the human term is, 'wallow in your own misery.'"

There were so many things wrong with that speech, Jim couldn't even begin to number them, but he did manage to grasp onto one key point that he thought complete and utter bullshit and go with it. "Like you care what happens to me. Mom and Lady Amanda may be worried, but I don't believe for a second that you give a shit. In fact, you probably wish I had died. You would have finally been rid of me."

Spock visibly flinched, and Jim felt himself break a little at the sight. Even though he always felt like Spock didn't want him, Jim didn't want to see him hurt. In fact, he'd beat up anyone who tried to hurt Spock. He'd always felt inordinately protective of him. He couldn't quite explain it, but he did.

Hell, he didn't really want to hurt anybody. Not his mom or the Lady Amanda, either. He just… he was so fucking _mad_ all the time, had been since he'd heard Kodos's speech and seen the first body fall.

"I do not wish you dead, Jim. You are my bondmate. Your presence in the universe is a necessity to me."

Jim didn't quite know what to make of that. In one way, it was kind of sweet. Albeit in a bit of a girly way, but whatever. He wasn't going to complain. A small part of him, though he'd never admit it, like, ever, had needed to hear that. Wanted to know that he was important to Spock. And he felt his body heat up a little in response to Spock's words.

On the other hand, it could also be interpreted that Spock needed him _because_ they were bonded, and all Vulcans needed bondmates. Spock could be bonded to _anybody_ and the necessity would still exist. He could have meant the words as entirely impersonal.

Jim was too afraid of the answer he'd receive to ask Spock to clarify on what he meant by that. It was safer to just go back and address Spock's original request.

"You can't just take my memories," Jim announced firmly. "Someone needs to remember what went down on Tarsus to make sure that shit never happens again."

And he really believed that to be true. He did. He would never forget Tarsus, and he'd make sure no one else did either.

"And how do you plan to do that if you do not allow yourself the proper nutrients on which to thrive?" Spock asked. Normally the tone of voice Spock used to ask that, that I'm-of-a-superior-intellect-to-everyone-and-everything put Jim totally on edge. He often felt the urge to punch Spock for it. Now though, now he was tired, and yeah, he'd own it, the bastard maybe sorta had a point.

"Fine," Jim said, at last. "I'll eat. At least, I'll try. But you keep away from me with all of that Vulcan mumbo-jumbo, memory-erasing crap there, Superman."

The light that danced in Spock's eyes at Jim's proclamation was kind of …. beautiful. If Jim noticed such things. Which he didn't. And no one could prove otherwise.

"I will," Spock agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

Age 15

_"You're a great one for logic. I'm a great one for rushing in where angels fear to tread. We are both extremists. Reality is probably somewhere in between." _Jim Kirk, "The Undiscovered Country"

_

* * *

_Breasts were a natural wonder of the universe. Truly, they were, all squishy and inviting, if they could speak they would say 'touch me, I'm so soft'. Jim was absolutely certain nothing in the world could compare to them… except, perhaps, the male penis, for which Jim also carried a certain fondness.

Jim was certain his own was a work of art. It really was. Michelangelo's David had nothing on him.

His love of erogenous zones on both male and female forms aside, Sally Forthead was sitting in front of him, sans shirt, and Jim felt as if he'd died and gone to heaven. Horndog heaven, a heaven made specially for fifteen-year-old boys with more than their fair share of hormones.

Jim _knew_ he had an abundance of hormones because he pretty much thought about sex all the time. In gym class (wrestling was a sport invented so one could touch, thrust, grab and hold, all in a public location), in math class (the square root of 49? Hot, baby) and even in chess club (Jim didn't care what anyone said, those pieces were phallic, they really _were_). And also because Spock, who had no hormones at all, had told him so.

The last time he visited Spock he had tried, and really hard at that, to get in Spock's pants, but the thing was that his supposed 'bondmate' could out-statue a statue. Jim was a romantic at heart, and no matter how many times Spock gave him 'I resent your presence in my life, get away from me' vibes he continually tried to give this 'destiny' thing of theirs another shot. If he'd had a say in the matter, he and Spock would have lost their virginities to each other, and Spock would have _loved_ it.

Yet Spock always put him off. Always. He had thought, perhaps, after the Tarsus-recovery-thing, that he and Spock had had a breakthrough, relationship-wise, but no. It was as if the guy inherited absolutely none of his human mother's imagination. Oh well, it was his loss. Jim wasn't going to die a celibate old man, no sir. If Spock wasn't going to give him any, then there were others who were ready and willing. Sally had been chasing him for ages. Hell, she'd practically thrown herself at him and Jim wasn't going to let the chance to get rid of this pesky virginity thing of his go.

Sam had been sixteen when he had lost his. Jim knew this because he'd caught Sam at it. The numb-nut had been uncreative enough to bring the girl home and use the old barn on the Kirk family property... the very barn Jim loved to visit with a good book, so he could curl up on the hay laden loft, with an icy cold soda resting temptingly at his side. Neither Sally nor any of his classmates knew this about him (Spock did, but he didn't care), but books? Best escape _ever_. He was a closet nerd, he embraced it. That particular day Jim had received an education beyond the one offered in "Lady Chatterley's Lover", which he had been reading, from his secret vantage point above.

And now Jim was going to beat Sam's record by a year. And in a location far more creative than a dirty barn floor, oh yes, Jim was doing it in style, in a _car_. Over achiever? Why yes, yes he was.

But then the weirdest thing started to happen. Virtually the moment he stepped into the car, a small headache manifested. By the time he was tentatively reaching for those breasts, it had grown into something impossible to ignore. So then he backed off of Sally, and the headache started to recede. He'd reach for Sally again, and it would come back. And each time it only grew, and grew, and grew, until Jim was in so much pain that he was pretty much put off sex. Maybe for life.

What was up with this? Did hormones cause this? He'd never gotten headaches whenever he had beaten himself off (which, okay, had only started happening in the past year or so). Nor did Sam look particularly overcome with agony when he had done it. What was the deal, here?

As embarrassing as the situation was, Jim had had to resort to faking an allergic reaction to the pizza he and Sally had eaten not half an hour before (allergic reactions were something Jim was sort of an expert on) and have Sally drive him home, virginity still annoyingly intact.

The entire situation was pretty much the most embarrassing moment _ever_, even topping the time he had 'tripped' and spilled Plomeek soup all over Mr. Sarek's robes (that was his story and he was sticking to it, even if he suspected that Spock, walled off against their bond though he was, was totally on to him) and the Ambassador had 'logically' lectured him in front of everybody on the need to slow down and walk with deliberation.

Research on the web provided no further insight, especially since Jim was distinctly not a menopausal woman (the only other creature, animal, vegetable or mineral, to get headaches from a hormone fluctuation).

As much as he was loath to do it, he only had one option left available to him… he had to go ask Sam.

Finding his older brother lounging on their living room couch was easy. Blurting out his embarrassment? Not so much.

"Sam, do you get agonizing headaches just before sex? Is that normal?" If Jim's cheeks were red after voicing these questions, he didn't want to know it.

Sam merely looked at him, blinked, and then burst out laughing, for a good solid five minutes.

Clearly brotherly solidarity left a lot to be desired in the Kirk home.

When Sam had finally calmed down, and retained enough breath to speak, he voiced the one questioned that Jim had not considered. "Did you not think to wonder if the headache had something to do with your bond? Maybe bonded people aren't meant to have sex outside marriage. Some sort of glorified Vulcan chastity belt. How precious is that? Good God, Jim, this is too awesome for words. I gotta comm Mom. Hey, you wouldn't mind if I told Uncle Jack this, too, would you?"

And then Sam resumed his laughter. But at that point Jim no longer cared. Well, he cared, but figured he would just get Sam back later. And he most definitely would. His brother would pay like no other. His more immediate concern, however, was that he had a bondmate to kill.

Jim wondered if Spock had to actually practice at being the most annoying bondmate in existence, ever, or if it just came naturally for him.

Whatever romantic notions Jim might have had when he was young and naive (at fifteen he was practically a man) about finding your soulmate, that one person in the universe perfect for you, who made you breakfast in bed, knew intuitively when you needed a massage, and gave you sex whenever you wanted it, Spock had long since disabused him of any such notions. Well, occasionally, once in a _great_ while, he and Spock would have a 'moment', a brief stretch of time where they would seemingly get each other, or they'd express an idea at the same time, or even share a joke, albeit an understated one, but these moments were becoming increasingly rare and Spock would always selectively forget about them the next minute.

Lady Amanda had once explained to them that their bond was extraordinary, rare even among the telepathic Vulcans. That such a spontaneous link was a coveted prize to be cherished. T'hy'la: friend, brother, lover. On paper it sounded absolutely fabulous. If Jim were new to the whole gig he'd probably be asking where to fucking sign. But as much as Jim loved and adored the Lady Amanda, and he did, he had come to the conclusion that she clearly had her facts wrong.

There were times when Jim wondered if Spock even liked him, let alone felt friendship, brotherhood, or love for him. When Jim had visited Vulcan he had tried to joke around with Spock, like he did his other buddies, tried to engage him in conversation, and for all his attempts all he would get was a raised eyebrow. Jim had come up with a theory, about six months prior, that Spock didn't appreciate his human half too much, and had long since equated Jim with that side of him. Which, fine, whatever. He'd seen the kids Spock had grown up with, a part of him couldn't even blame Spock for his existential crises. He'd probably have grown up all kinds of messed up, too, if he'd had to deal with those assholes.

In a way, Jim had his own existential crises to deal with… Spock should try growing up the son of a fallen hero, one who had died so that you might live, and everyone and their brother/cousins/uncles/nosy neighbors compared you with; see how he handled _that_.

But, whatever, if his bondmate didn't want him, what was so wrong about trying to find someone who did? It wasn't as if he was trying to find another soulmate. He was fifteen. What he needed was a good lay. Was that really too much to ask?

When Spock's image came up on Jim's computer monitor, after Jim had dialed him up, Jim didn't waste time with small talk. Bondmate or no bondmate, Spock was a cock-blocking son of a … really nice woman. 'Twas a shame about her son's unfortunate disposition.

"You owe me so much you don't even know… Here I was, ready to get some. She was naked, Spock, and right in front of me. Mine for the taking. And what should happen? What? I'll tell you what, a fucking whopper of a migraine, that's what! Why do you hate me?"

Spock's eyebrow raised. And, God, Jim never knew an eyebrow could be so fucking annoying. If Spock didn't stop it, Jim was going to glue his eyebrow like that permanently the next time he saw the bastard, he really, _really_ was.

"I do not hate you. It is the nature of the bond to prevent dalliances from occurring. The solution is simple… learn impulse control. A difficult concept for you, I am certain, but I am sure, with time, you can learn to overcome your animalistic desires."

Animalistic desires? Oh Jesus fucking Christ! The universe, in its infinite wisdom, had somehow decided that Jim Kirk was the perfect match to a being who thought of sex as an animalistic desire? Clearly the entirety of his life was the butt of a cosmic fucking joke.

"Hey, Spock, got news for ya, pal. How are little Vulcans made?" Jim snorted, hoping that conveyed the sheer magnitude of his annoyance if his words did not. "That's right, through sex, asshole. So don't get all high and mighty on me. Our anatomies aren't that different. You're bipedal, I'm bipedal. You're a mammal, I'm a mammal. We both have fucking dicks. I'd like to use mine. Make it happen."

When Spock didn't immediately reply, Jim continued to try and drive the point home. Sure, he didn't really give Spock much opportunity to get a word in edgewise, but Jim was very passionate about this particular subject.

"Do you know what being a fifteen-year-old human male is like? Well, let me explain it to you. We see corn growing, we want sex. We see a cloud in the sky, we want sex. A tree falls in a forest with no one around to hear it… we still want sex. Moral of this little tirade? Adolescent human males want sex, a lot. It's biology, man. This bond of ours is trying to squelch a natural, biological drive and that's just mean."

And because Jim was a total masochist, he accepted this about himself, he added, "If you don't want me to have it with anyone else, I'm right here, waiting, buddy, come and get me."

A small part of him couldn't help but hope that Spock would finally, _finally_, show some interest but once again his proclamation was met with silence. Jim would scarcely admit to it, but it fucking hurt, even though he had predicted this reaction.

"You are aware that such action would be impossible at this time?" Spock responded at last, eyebrow still raised. "I am currently studying for my entrance exams for the Vulcan Science Academy. You are also in the middle of a school semester. Your mother told mine that in addition to your primary educational requirements, you are also taking university courses in history and literature. Are your academic pursuits not enough for you at this time? If that is the case I suggest you acquire more course work."

Jim snorted once more. And included an eye-roll this time, for effect.

"Spock, ever hear of multi-tasking? Try it sometime. Lucky for me I am capable of thinking of sex AND history at the same time. Hey, you know what? It is scientifically verifiable that people in history had sex…" and if that came out blatantly sarcastic, Jim felt he could be excused. His patience was entirely worn.

"Indeed," Spock replied, and though Jim thought he could be imagining it, the corners of Spock's mouth twisted a little, as if he were visibly fighting back a grin. Well, wonders never ceased, maybe Spock had a sense of humor in him after all. It was all so shocking. "But since I, myself, have not partaken in such carnal urges, I am unfamiliar with which areas of the bond I would need to dampen so that you may… 'sow your wild oats', I believe you humans call it? I'm afraid that I cannot assist you at this time."

Right, so there had been a second there when Jim was thinking that maybe Spock was alright, but then Spock had to go immediately kill such a concept. Typical. Totally par for the course. Somebody should just shoot Jim and put him out of his misery.

Jim didn't even bother to say goodbye to his 'soulmate' as he cut their call. The Vulcan truly was _evil_.

But even as he lamented his fate, his brain was busy churning out ideas. Spock didn't experience 'carnal urges'? Was unfamiliar with the concept? A bond worked two fucking ways. So did cock-blocking.

There were many reasons having a parent in Starfleet was awesome, access to xenobiology works being one of them. Over the next few days, Jim read everything he could get his hands on regarding telepathic bonds. Spock had long since learned to block their bond, but Jim was certain that that didn't preclude messing around with him some way, if even just a little. There had to be some other way of knocking on the door to Spock's mind.

And so, one night not too long after their distressing conversation, research firmly under his belt, alone in his bedroom, revenge in mind and dick in hand, Jim set out to do just that.

He meditated slowly, took deep breaths, and reached out with his mind, following the thread of a bond he'd been aware of being there since before he was old enough to understand what it was. Once at the doorway to Spock's mind, it took quick work to discover that the visual and memory centers of Spock's side of the bond were firmly closed off, as Jim had suspected they would be. The pleasure centers, however, were not.

Excellent.

Jim caressed those parts of Spock with his own mind, watched as they vibrated and hummed beneath his touch, then grabbed them mentally as he grabbed himself physically. And then he let go, let the testosterone and adrenaline in his system build and build. He felt a sea of ecstasy crash over him and then, on the cusp of orgasm, he stopped.

Oh, it wasn't easy to do. In fact, it fucking hurt. The blue balls he was experiencing just then would probably kill a lesser man. But, well, needs must. Jim could be just as stubborn as Spock.

He pulled himself out of his bondmate's mind, and when that was done, he smiled.

Score one for the human.

Minutes later he received a comm, as he had suspected he would.

"You've made your point," an immensely irritated Spock told him (Jim knew he was irritated because his dark eyes flashed and his eyebrows were lowered). "I will, of course, be blocking this aspect of our bond in addition to the others to prevent further such occurrences. Good evening, Jim."

And just like that, he was gone.

For a few minutes Jim simply sat there, kind of shell-shocked.

He should be feeling triumphant. He had won. He had made his point. Hooray! But in actuality, his victory felt kind of hollow, and left him shockingly depressed.

Having a soulmate actually kind of sucked. It was also confusing as hell.


	6. Chapter 6

Age 22:

_"If I hadn't tried, the cost would have been my soul." _Jim Kirk, "The Search for Spock"

* * *

The end of term party always sucked – seriously, it was like a rule. So Jim felt pretty damn pleased that he had managed to find two things that made the party more bearable.

The first was that he was so fucking drunk he could barely move. In fact, becoming wasted via alcohol had pretty much been the order of the night. He had worked his butt off with his impacted curriculum the past semester, and then in acing said classes, and all work and no play had made Jim a very dull boy. It was long past time to play hard. Long past. In fact, Bones would be proud of the amount of alcohol he'd managed thus far - well, Bones would be proud if he wasn't so busy hitting on the pretty blonde nurse from his class. But Jim would let that go – the things he did for friends.

The second? He had found something _nice_ to stare at. In fact, he was currently eyeing up a particularly fine piece of ass from across the room. A tall, dark, and… the head of his prey turned and Jim spotted the tell-tale sign of a pointed ear. Disappointment sank in through his drunken haze.

A Vulcan.

How fucking ironic. It figured. Just figured. The end of term party always sucked. All-fucking-ways. It was only up to par that the most promising prospect in the room was unattainable. Really, Jim didn't even know why he was so surprised.

Vulcans didn't _do_ sex. He knew that better than anybody. They also made a habit of getting disowned by their parents and losing all touch with their bondmates. Not that he was bitter, or anything.

Too bad to, because this guy tonight really had a fine ass. The Vulcan was gorgeous. Not just regular strength gorgeous, the serious kind, industrial strength. The kind that would have made it worthwhile getting out of his chair for.

But hey, he was an open-minded guy, and hated stereotyping as much as the next guy. Maybe not all Vulcans were as repressed as… the one he'd known.

Slowly, he managed to pick himself up out of his chair - a difficult feat if there ever was one considering that his coordination, while inebriated, was always the first to go - and slowly sauntered over to the Vulcan. When he reached the guy, whose back was turned to him, he opened his mouth to say… something. Something he hoped would pass for smooth. He'd even settle for coherent, though the actual words were lost on him, sounding rather mumbly to his own ears.

Such undoubtedly awesome charm was met by a blink from his Vulcan companion. And then he heard a set of words in a voice that sounded heart-stoppingly familiar.

"Good evening to you as well, bondmate."

_Spock_.

He gave himself a second for that to sink in. The shock of it was enough to sober him up a bit.

Spock was here - and if the crisp instructor's uniform was anything to go by, which, Kirk concedes, Spock looks _nice_ in - he was also in Starfleet and had been for quite awhile.

Spock was here… in Starfleet… and fucking hot.

What the hell did Jim do to deserve this? He must have been such an asshole in a past life. The bondmate who didn't want him, who had never wanted him, who had allowed himself to disappear into obscurity, was here.

Fuck his life.

And since when had Spock been hot? More to the point, since when had Spock been in Starfleet? There was no way he could have missed this but, well, it seemed to have happened.

His life was so surreal there weren't words.

But it did answer one question: turned out Spock didn't need to practice at being the most annoying soulmate in existence, it obviously came naturally, as there was no way Spock could have orchestrated their meeting again, like this.

Good to know it wasn't personal.

He wanted to say something clear and insightful, wanted Spock to get a glimpse of what he threw away, but his words were slurred and the room was spinning.

Great. Just great. Murphy and his laws at it again.

Distantly, while pondering over just how much fate was a bitch, he heard Spock start to speak…

"I think it would be wise if I returned you to your room," Spock told him, his voice measured and low. He was watching Kirk carefully, assessing, dark eyes examining Jim as if they could see inside him.

For once, and for probably the first time ever, they were agreed. There was nothing Jim would like more than to escape to his apartment and get the fuck out of dodge. He tilted his head, eyeing Spock tentatively, not quite sure what to do or what to say. He knew he should say _something_ but he didn't think he could make words right now. At least not the right ones.

How do you say, 'where the fuck have you been, asshole? What happened after you and Sarek came to blows? Why didn't you ever write me? I mean, I know we were never close, but yeah, I did kind of worry, you know?'

"I have no ulterior motives," Spock added, as if that was Jim's concern.

Of course Spock didn't have ulterior motives. That pretty much went without saying. If Spock had wanted anything to do with him he would have made that clear before now. So no, if there was one person in existence without ulterior motives, it was Spock.

Jim nodded his consent, feeling more than a little sick. His night was pretty much ruined and he sure as hell wasn't going to stick around like a masochist. Best not leave himself open for any more jarring events to come a-callin', especially since his luck wasn't currently at its best.

The only thing was that he wasn't quite sure he could make it back himself without falling flat on his face and spending the night wherever he fell.

Never again. He wouldn't allow himself to get this wasted ever again. It always boded ill. The last time he had been this wasted he'd started a fight with four cadets and ended up recruited into Starfleet.

Alcohol was an evil, evil substance.

Suddenly Spock placed a firm hand on his shoulder and led him from the hall, the Vulcan's grip burning hotly through his clothes, branding him.

Spock didn't often touch him as a child, and to feel that touch now, even through the haze of alcohol, was a shock to his system.

"Where is your room?" Spock asked, and Jim waved his arm vaguely in one direction, still a tad dazed.

He didn't know why Spock was suddenly being so helpful, so concerned for Jim's welfare, and goddamn it, why did Spock have to be so damn confusing? Jim swore he'd never met anyone he understood less in his life. Which was pretty funny considering they're supposed to be hardwired into each other's brains.

Eventually, between Jim's vague gestures and sheer luck, they somehow managed to find the right room. (Well, Jim figured was the right room since the keycodes worked which, hey, seems good enough to him) and Spock paused for a moment, looking him over, quietly assessing, before turning to leave.

It was then Jim found his voice.

"It was good to see you tonight, Spock. Might have been a little less of a surprise if I had forewarning you were in Starfleet, but hey, we never really were the keep in touch sort, were we? Not without Amanda there to force you."

Spock looked back at him, all big eyes and still posture, and Jim felt his heart was being squeezed. He doesn't know why.

"I had always meant to find you, yet you so cleverly, I believe the phrase is 'beat me to it'," came the response, and then Spock was gone and Jim was wondering… 'the fuck?'

He somehow managed to make it to his bed without falling flat on his face, small mercies. And woke up the next morning with his head splitting. Alcohol was evil. _E-v-i-l_.

It was then he remembered the fact he had met and spoken to Spock at the party and it  
hadn't exactly gone as he imagined it would if he ever saw Spock again. There hadn't been nearly enough yelling, for one thing.

_Nicely done, Jim, stellar work there. Way to assert yourself, way to state your piece._

But it did raise the rather interesting question of what Spock was doing at the Academy, and why.

In a fit of inspiration, Jim snatched his PADD from the stand beside his bed. It took him all of ten seconds to hack into the Starfleet mainframe – seriously, these guys were meant to be good? If he could do this hungover before he'd even had his coffee, then he had serious concern over the organization he'd pledged his future to.

He found Spock easily. Just across campus. And, as luck would have it, Jim knew the very building.

He cleaned himself up and headed for the door.

Finding Spock's room was easy and tricking the entry protocols even easier. Sometimes he wondered if people even _tried_. He saw now, quite easily, why Pike had stated that Starfleet needed new blood. And maybe the mind of a genius level repeat offender on their side.

Spock's room was pretty empty and clean, like he wasn't planning on staying here long-term, as if he was living in a hotel room. He wondered if Spock even owned anything personal. It was kind of sad. Jim didn't have much, but at least his room reflected his personality.

Jim couldn't help but pull a face as he considered that owning stuff was probably _illogical_.

A picture on an end table, however, caught his eye. To Jim's surprise, it was him, well a teenage him, the last time he saw Spock before the shit hit the fan in Sarek's household.

Then someone cleared his throat and Jim whirled around, putting on his best grin, one that screams 'I'm so innocent, yes, yes I am'. There was only one person it could be.

"You did not wish to wait on me returning to find you?" Spock asked, voice and expression impassive as always, but Jim could detect a hint of amusement.

Jim shrugged - "I got bored. It's what you deserve, anyway."

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him and Jim threw him a smirk.

"If you don't want people letting themselves in then you should have better security protocols. And _you're_ meant to be the genius."

This earned him a blink from Spock, who was clearly trying to catalog the many ways his statement was illogical. Just like old times, which made Jim want to laugh, just a little.

He might have a buttload of issues with what did or didn't go down between him and Spock, but, in retrospect, there were aspects of their history he couldn't help but view with fondness.

"I am assuming that you wish to talk to me?" Spock inquired, eyebrow still raised.

This earned Spock another grin. "I was getting worried you were just a pretty face these days. Yeah, I figured what with you being here, and me being here, that we should probably, you know, talk. Could get awkward otherwise."

Awkward was one word for it anyway.

Spock nodded. "I believe further communication would be appropriate."

There was a moment of silence which left Jim time to marvel over the weird turns in his life. For one, they had just agreed with each other. He was half convinced that the entire universe was about to freaking implode from the shock of that, alone. For another, fucking _Spock_ was standing right in front of him after so many years.

Spock tugged at the edges of his uniform top and Jim couldn't help but wonder if the other man was nervous. Nervous? Spock? It didn't compute.

"I elected to join Starfleet once it became clear that the Vulcan Science Academy was not the path I desired for myself after all," the Vulcan finally announced. "I note that some change in plans has brought you, also, unexpectedly to Starfleet."

Jim nodded, having no desire to go into the conversation with Pike and the whole, 'I dare you to do better' thing. He didn't really want to admit to Spock the mess he had been, at the time.

"It seemed like it might not be a total waste of time. I'm not doing too badly so far," was what came out instead.

Spock quirked an eyebrow, "Indeed."

There was another moment of silence and Jim began to feel repressed by it. Why was it so difficult to express himself to Spock? He'd never been one to be nonverbal before, in fact there wasn't anyone alive who would accuse him of such. Jim sighed.

He had nothing to lose. Not really. It wasn't as if he ever had Spock's attention to begin with.

"You must have been so disappointed to see me at that party last night, and to find out that I'm enrolled here," he said, and if he sounded bitter, well, he stood by that particular feeling.

"Not disappointed. Delighted," Spock's cheeks blushed green at the admission, and Jim thought the look on Spock endearing despite himself. "Jim, there have been so many times these past few years when I have wished to contact you. I called Winona once. She explained that she hadn't heard from you in some months, that you were going through a difficult time. It has always been my intention to find you."

"Why? Do you even like me? Did you ever?"

Spock blinked at that, as if taken by surprise.

"Of course I did," he answered succinctly. And the answer was so immediate it took Jim off guard.

"Really?" he asked, before he could sensor himself.

"Jim," Spock sighed, "I thought I had explained this to you on previous occasions. You are essential to me."

"As your bondmate," Jim clarified, determined to make sense of this. Wouldn't want to start to get delusions that Spock might be professing any sort of romantic attachment. Spock was Vulcan and Vulcans needed their bondmates, were the bondmates James T. Kirk or Bubba the Andorian.

Spock blinked again, and Jim would admit that it was nice to see Spock so disquieted. Well, disquieted for Spock, which, by human standards, wasn't much.

"Of course," he stated, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, and Jim had to fight to squelch his disappointment. He shouldn't feel disappointed, he had expected no less. This was how things were, how they had always been.

He took another moment, then grinned again, thinking of a way to put them on friendly terms, if nothing else. "Look, why don't you let me show you how I broke into your security protocols."

If Jim didn't know better – and thankfully he did – he'd swear there was a slight smile around the side of Spock's mouth. But only for a second. "That would be acceptable."

* * *

A few days later Spock got the idea in his head that it would be a good idea to help Jim with his upcoming linguistics exam. Just as a way to return the favor.

Jim let him. Because he had never given up on anything before and he wasn't going to now, childhood jadedness aside.

So he allowed Spock to drag him to the library, and he let Spock talk ad nauseam about how to conjugate weird and obscure Vulcan verbs because of the slight possibility that they might show up on the test. Which would all be very educational and stuff if Jim didn't already know how to do it.

He half considered trying to interrupt Spock again but didn't know how well that would go over. Hell, he'd stopped listening about an hour ago anyway and Spock seemed to be enjoying himself so he figured they were both winning, here.

"James, if you do not listen then how do you expect to pass your test." Spock asks, cutting into his line of thought.

Jim looked up at him – using a disinterested expression that's not _all_ fake.

"I'm not stupid," Kirk told him in Vulcan. Sure, the pronunciation might be a touch off but it works. Then he flicked back to standard, "And don't call me James, you _know_ I hate that."

Spock blinked at him, once more. Jim loved that he was making a habit of getting Spock to do that. "You are fluent in Vulcan."

And yes, Jim thoroughly enjoyed the look of surprise on Spock's face, so sue him. He couldn't help but smile, "Yeah."

No way in hell would he admit that Vulcan was the first language he taught himself because of Spock. He'd gone through a really stupid and delusional phase of thinking that it might help them get on a bit better, when he was younger, but hey, it'd turned out to be really useful at the Academy anyway. It was because of his mastery of Vulcan that he'd figured out that languages were something he wasn't too bad at.

And with the knowledge of Jim's fluency in Vulcan out in the open there was something in Spock's expression that Jim couldn't quite read.

Not that reading Spock was ever easy, by any means.

Jim snorted, which seemed to startle Spock out of whatever he was thinking. "Why don't we go get lunch or something?" he suggested, because conjugating verbs is hunger-inducing, everyone knew that.

Spock didn't seem to disagree.

* * *

He was getting hit on in a bar, and for first time in his life, he hesitated. The thing was… he hadn't gotten laid in a while. Actually, he hadn't got laid since Spock walked back into his life. And given the choice, and if there was any laying to be had, he'd much rather be doing it with Spock.

But he still didn't really know what he was to Spock.

Did Spock want him as a friend? As more than a friend? He certainly hadn't made any overtures in a 'lets get up close and personal' type of way. In fact, he and Spock hadn't had a discussion of what, exactly, they were doing beyond the 'essential bondmate' conversation. Though it was on the tip of Jim's tongue with every encounter they had. The crux of the matter was that no matter how hard Jim tried to hold on to righteous anger and resentment towards Spock, he wanted him. Wanted him so badly. He couldn't even explain it. How pathetic was it to want someone who'd never shown an inkling of interest? It fucking sucked.

So his choices were no Spock, thus celibacy, or settling for second best. He was feeling so tightly coiled that getting laid would actually be kind of therapeutic. And he and Spock did have that agreement as teenagers… Perhaps sleeping with someone would serve to put his head back on straight. Help get rid of all this confusion and alleviate some of the angst over his stupid unrequited feelings.

Besides, he had a hard time turning down an offer of sex without sufficient reason.

For a while he was in his grove, chatting her up, reading all of her signals in all the right ways. But then she suddenly stopped paying attention to him and started repeatedly glancing over his shoulder. After the fifth or sixth time she did this he took the hint and turned around.

Spock was sitting at the next table over, making a clear point of not watching Jim. The way Spock's face was turned away was more telling than anything.

The Vulcan was not pleased. But then, neither was Jim. Perhaps they were well suited after all.

He excused himself from his would-be date and went to sit down opposite Spock. Spock glanced up from the juice he was drinking which has suddenly become the most _fascinating_ thing in existence.

"Gonna tell me what brought an upstanding guy like you to this fine establishment?" Jim asked, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. Cock-blocking a man should be a criminal offense.

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him. "I am free to go where I please."

Jim wanted to laugh but it came out more of a snort. "Yeah, sure you are."

He was so sick of this. He'd gone his entire life not knowing where he stood with Spock, and he wasn't about to take this shit anymore. He didn't want mind games, or mysterious appearances just when he was about to get laid. He wanted answers, a lot of answers. And if Spock wanted them to be a them, he'd better damn well _tell_ Jim that, and he better'd damn well show it with his actions. Jim leaned across the table and put on his best smile. It was not a nice smile. "Well, if you're going to keep this up you might as well make it worth my while."

Yeah, it was a dick move, but come on, this whole thing was just getting fucking stupid now.

Spock shifted back. Jim's grin widened.

"I think it would be wise if I left," Spock announced.

Jim nodded. "I was just about to leave myself."

They both headed for the door, neither saying anything as they make their way through the groups of people, the music suddenly seeming blaringly loud.

They made it to the quad outside before it hit Jim _just_ how pissed off he was that Spock thought he could just walk in and _do_ that having shown no interest in Jim, sexually, ever. He took a deep breath as he turned to face him. "You don't give a fuck about me, why do you _care_ what I'm doing?"

It was true and they both knew it, and is just wasn't fair that Spock kept screwing him over like this.

"You analysis is incorrect," Spock told him over the noise of music from inside the club.

Jim laughed because he wasn't quite sure how else to react, and it came out sounding _way_ more bitter than he meant it to. "Oh, and why's that?" he couldn't help but ask, because, apparently, he was a fucking masochist.

"Your assumption is that I have no interest in your welfare. It is unsubstantiated and would be improved with revision."

"Unsubstantiated? _Unsubstantiated?_ You spent our entire childhood telling me that I was illogical, acting like I was the biggest pain in your ass. You've never showed any inclination towards taking our relationship to a romantic level, and you might as well be a eunuch for how much sexual interest you've shown. You tell me, how exactly are my conclusions unsubstantiated?"

Spock's eyes were dark and wide, and Jim saw the dawning of understanding in them. And then he saw… sorrow?

The silence reigned and it was oppressive, and Jim contemplated just turning around and leaving Spock there.

"Jim, I spent the entirety of my childhood trying to adopt the Vulcan way more completely than even my fully Vulcan peers. You saw with your own eyes how I was treated as a child. And my father…"

And yeah, Jim didn't need an explanation there. He'd met Sarek. If one were to look up 'uptight' in a dictionary, Sarek's picture would be there. He'd always wondered how Sarek and Amanda had _ever_ managed to hit it off, let alone raise a child together.

"I could not exhibit anything that even closely resembled an emotional reaction without being tormented for it. And my Vulcan DNA caused my sexual maturity to come at a much later date than your own. I never meant for you to feel… unwanted. I have always wanted you. I have never even considered another. You are a marvel to me, a most precious treasure. I always found a great deal of comfort just in knowing you exist. I, perhaps wrongfully, assumed that you would be aware of your importance to me just by the uniqueness of our connection. To find t'hyl'a is…"

"Rare, yeah, I know." And that much he did know, but he had always wanted… more. Some sort of tactile and verbal recognition, as most humans were accustomed to receiving within their interpersonal relationships. And Spock hadn't known that, because Jim had never vocalized such a request, assuming Spock should just _know_ while forgetting that they came from two entirely different worlds, two entirely different mindsets, and the whole thing was just sad. So sad. All that torment. All those feelings of rejection. All of it a matter of cultural misunderstanding. Years and years of it.

It was at this point that Jim stopped wondering if he was the butt of a cosmic joke and became thoroughly convinced that he was one.

And then Jim was laughing again, even if he wasn't quite sure fucking _why. _He just knew that the urge was overwhelming. Jim touched Spock lightly on the hand as he laughed, an almost instinctive gesture – he was tactile, always had been, and just then he wanted to touch Spock more than anything – it was only after he'd done it that he thought _shit_. Touching Spock was like a bolt of electricity that went straight for his core.

Spock didn't move, nor did he object, he just stood there and watched Jim with those big, gorgeous, human eyes. Jim wondered whether Spock felt the electricity sizzling between them, too, or if he'd just finally lost it.

"You confuse the hell out of me," Jim told him. "So what is it, exactly, you want from me? Could you spell it out, because I'm done making presumptions here." He didn't notice that his voice had gotten progressively lower as he spoke because he was too focused on the way Spock was looking at him.

Spock answered quite succinctly by kissing him lightly on the mouth – and _fuck _if that didn't make his insides hurt – and there was way more affection in that kiss than Jim thought humanly possible.

He supposed, then, that he had his answer.

* * *

The next morning Jim woke up with a headache that would _not_ go away. After about five hours he started to get that this wasn't exactly a normal thing. Which explained why he found himself thumping on Spock's door, yelling for Spock to answer.

Spock took one look at him, then stepped aside to let him in.

The pounding in his head was worse now, so loud that he couldn't even hear himself think, and the only conclusion he could come to in this anxious state was that this was related somehow to their bond. Perhaps through the kiss they had shared.

"My head, you screwed up my head," he complained, but there was no bite to it. He just wanted the pain to stop. "It hurts," he finished, undoubtedly looking a little pathetic, but at this point he couldn't give a shit.

Spock gestured for Jim to sit on the side of his bed, and there was a pause while Spock chose his words carefully. "I was...unaware that I had done anything."

Jim nodded absentmindedly – he'd figured as much but it was still a bitch. Somehow the pounding was _worse_ now that he was near Spock physically.

"I wondered if it might be, you know, related to the whole Vulcan _thing_," he whispered as he gestured at his head.

Spock tilted his head slightly. "It is possible, despite the fact that I am feeling no ill effects."

Jim didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't bother. He opted instead for closing his eyes and wishing the pain away through sheer strength of will.

It didn't work.

He had a pretty good idea how the whole bond thing worked, but he wasn't a telepath so he couldn't be one hundred percent sure about the tiny little details of the whole thing. He'd always had the impression that few people are.

"Would you be averse to me initiating a mind-meld?" Spock asked, and it was all Jim could do not to flinch away in response.

"What _for_?"

Spock shifted slightly closer to him, brown eyes concerned. "It would allow me to see what is hurting you. I will not intentionally look through any of your thoughts, if that is your concern."

Jim nodded again, relieved because he wasn't quite ready to let Spock see just how much he was invested in the two of them, like really, _really_ invested, old childhood dreams sprung anew, and then Spock's fingers were resting gently on the side of his head.

Then, well, Jim could only describe it as falling backwards in a blaze of color and light.

There was a presence at the side of his mind – a familiar one, and he realized, an almost a comforting one – and he instantly knew it was Spock. Even though the bond had been mostly blocked he could sometimes still pick up on Spock slightly. There was a voice, in his head, and it's a voice he knows as well as his own.

"I have located the source of the problem. Allow me a moment."

There was a second's delay and the pounding _stopped _almost instantly and he was back to himself, gasping for air.

"What the hell just happened?" he asked.

Spock gave him a look, another one of those penetrating stares, but Jim couldn't quite figure out what he was meant to take from it. "The block on the bond was starting to disintegrate due to our...recent contact."

He turned his thoughts inward, looking for a sign of a block that had been lifted, and felt a thrum vibrating gently in his head, one filled with affection, love and everything he'd been missing. He gently caressed it, mentally, and heard Spock take a deep breath beside him.

Oh he was going to _like_ this.

He could sense Spock, at the back of his head. And it wasn't an invasive thing because he couldn't sense individual thoughts or ideas, just a general sense of _Spock_. And it was warmer, and brighter, and more comforting than anyone with only two facial expressions had any right to be.

It felt – well, it felt _right_. A sharp sense of pure _rightness_ that washed over him.

And he couldn't help it, he had to ask. "And will the bond remain unblocked?"

It was a test and he hated doing it. He would like to think himself above it, but a lifetime of hurt couldn't be erased, even if said hurt had boiled down to a lack of communication.

_Get this right, Spock. Please, please get this right._

"Yes," Spock answered, his eyes soft as he looked at Jim, "the bond will remain unblocked."

And that was everything Jim wanted to hear.

There was so damn much that he should say, so damn much that he should have said before now, an entire _lifetime_ of stuff, and trying to verbalize it all just seems unnecessary in the wake of the bond thrumming to life, vibrant and lovely in his head**.**

Spock drew in a breath. "I apologize for my previous actions in regards to our childhood miscommun-"

Jim cut him off with a gesture. "No, Spock," Jim told him, placing his fingertips over Spock's lips. "We don't have to do that."

This got him an eyebrow quirk from Spock. "I do not understand."

"We're fine now, I'm fine, you're fine, no need to dwell. I get it. I completely get it. Why don't we...go eat or something? Way more useful." Jim gets to his feet, a smile firmly on his face. He felt like he could smile forever and never get tired. "You like Italian?"

"I do not know."

The look on Spock's face was so priceless that he had to stop himself reaching out and touching Spock's hand. So he laughed instead. "Well, give it a shot."

Spock tilted his head and there was a trace of a smile on his face. "As you wish, T'hy'la. As you wish."

The End!


End file.
